Another Boring Day
by darkeldar
Summary: A group of Imperial Guardsmen are stationed in the middle of nowhere, far from the fighting on an world under attack by orks.  This short story chronicles their last day at their outpost before being relieved of duty.  One shot.


Another Boring Day

How disgusting, thought Corporal Morris Elstein. He turned over in his cot and checked the chronometer that was lying on the bedside table. 07:23, it read. Damn, its alarm didn't go off. He rolled off the cot and stood up, grabbing his tan trousers and jacket from the table. His boots were at the foot of the bed, next to his helmet and sand goggles. How disgusting, he thought again. It was barely morning, and already the heat could kill a man. But, such was life in the Imperial Guard. In all of Morris' postings in the 48th Serphian, this was one of the easiest.

Leaving his boots and helmet behind, he tiredly stumbled into the washroom. Maintaining water discipline, he washed his hands and face as quickly as he could. While he wished he could take a long warm shower, he was out of luck. There was little water to go around, what with the war effort and all. He shaved his square face without any water, cutting himself twice, and combed his brown hair so that it was at least straight. He walked back to his bedroom to put on his boots. The stone floor was cool to the touch. Morris savored it. It was probably the last cold thing he would feel all day. Though, he thought, this building does manage to trap the cool air. While it was only warm inside the stone building, it was blazing outside. The world of Heras IV orbited binary stars, and made day to day life nearly impossible for those not used to it. The tribesmen did well. The ones on the southern continent, where Morris was stationed, were nomads. They traveled between villages made of this same type of stone, set camps where they had established wells. How they managed to live when they only had thirty minutes of darkness a day was beyond Morris. The Guard only managed to keep their men sane through the application of thick curtains, provided by top Mechanicus researchers. What Magos had that job? Wondered Morris.

He quickly picked out a pair of thick socks. They were all dirty, and would be incredibly uncomfortable with the heat, but it was better than chafing with the sand. He could get an infection and lose a foot. There was no doctor anywhere near this posting, they were needed up north where the fighting was. He tied his boots tightly and made sure that his trouser legs were tucked in. Then he wrapped the scarf around his neck and grabbed his helmet. It was the nomads who taught them about the scarfs. Serph was a lush, green world, with few deserts. Morris, and many of the other men in the regiment, had little knowledge of desert conditions. Over a hundred men had been put out of action by throat infections, and more still from sinus pain. The sand on Heras IV was very fine, and really tore up what it covered.

Morris began to walk out the door, only stopping when he realized he forgot something. His lasgun was leaning against an unused dresser by the door. Mars pattern, superbly maintained, it was his pride and joy. He grabbed it and slung it over his shoulder before exiting the room. Even if they weren't on a combat posting, it was always wise to maintain your weapon. After all, no one knew when an enemy might appear, or worse, a Commissar.

The rest of the squad was in the mess hall, already up and eating. As he entered, he waved an apology to his Sergeant and grabbed a plate. He served himself some unidentifiable meat and grabbed one of the ration packs that were also up on the counter at the end of the room. They had been having food shortages for a couple of days, and even though he called it a mess hall, it was really just a room that they decided was the mess hall. There were very little regimental regulations around here. Most of the regiment was up north, doing the actual fighting.

He sat down at the table next to the Sergeant. Ullyses Franco was a small, unassuming man that had been promoted to squad leader after their previous one had died fighting the orks on Verndus. That was a nasty situation. It had brought the squad down to a third of its original strength, and the replacements were green. Sergeant Franco, like all the other men, wore his hair relatively long. It did a good job of blocking out the suns. Morris knew from experience that you could get nasty burns out there.

Why did he even call it a squad? There were only five of them, and they had almost no discipline whatsoever. They were sent to some backwater posting in the middle of the fraking desert for no reason other than that they didn't have the numbers to be effective in combat. Morris looked around the table. Someone told him once that he had dead eyes, and about now, he was inclined to agree. The routine had been so monotonous that the energy to get up every day had left him completely. He was a walking shell, a golem that only followed direct orders. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go anywhere but here. He didn't even mind if they sent him up north to the thick of the fighting. It had been a while since he killed something that could really fight back.

"Any news from the front?" he asked. His voice was hoarse. The words sounded like they were being dragged across sandpaper. With the climate though, that description wasn't far off. He opened his canteen and allowed a drop of water to fall onto his tongue before capping it again. He had to make it last all day.

"Word is the 23rd was destroyed last night." Said James Terun, the squad vox man. He hadn't shaved today, and his black hair was longer than anyone else's, giving him the appearance of a wild man. He quietly chewed on a piece of bread from his ration pack.

"Destroyed? How?" asked Lars. That was all they called him, Lars. It wasn't his name, and Morris and the others didn't care. He was the newest of the new, barely eighteen. For all Morris knew, Lars didn't have to shave at all. Fraking kid, doesn't understand anything about how this place works.

"Apparently the 23rd was caught in a trap. As they were moving through one of those damned valleys, the orks came out in force. Caught them in a pincer, killed every one of them. I heard the last vox from the site of the battle was a desperate call for an orbital atomic strike. I also heard that the Navy obliged them."

"Poor bastards." Muttered Morris, shaking his head. "Who knew the orks were smart?"

"I heard something." Said the last member of the squad. Morris didn't know when the 48th became a mixed regiment. Must have been while he was out napping. After Verndus, Lessa Raine had joined the squad. She wasn't pretty. Nor was she ugly though. At first, Morris didn't know if she would be bad or good for the squad, but resolved to be impartial about it. Recently, Morris had started to think her name was just mocking the situation. He couldn't do anything about it though.

"What did you hear?" asked Franco. The Sergeant was desperately trying to keep himself from lighting up a lho-stick. The thirst would be unbearable.

"Two things really. Well, actually three." She said.

Morris rolled his eyes. "Get on with it, dear."

"First off, I heard the orks are winning." This didn't come as a surprise to the occupants of the room. The rumors of the imminent ork victory came through almost daily. But there might be an element of truth to it if an entire regiment was destroyed overnight.

"And?" asked James. He was just as impatient as Morris today.

"I also heard another liberation fleet is coming. Four weeks off. They have a Titan Legion" That was a surprise. If the Guard was coming with another fleet, this war could end soon. Or maybe just escalate more. The orks were like that. You bring a bigger gun, they destroy it and reproduce it.

"The last thing?" asked Lars eagerly. He was infatuated with Lessa. Poor boy probably hadn't seen a real woman in a long time.

"A couple nomad tribes were wiped out last week."

"I heard that as well." Replied Franco. "There is suspicion that tribal warfare is going on. Command voxed that we should be on the lookout for suspicious persons."

"What kind of hardware are these 'suspicious persons' supposed to be packing sir?" Morris asked.

"The report said autoguns and the like." Said the Sergeant, getting up from his seat. "I don't think it'll be much trouble, even if they come in force."

Frak, autoguns? Morris thought it was more appropriate for them to be wielding black powder weapons. The tech level of this planet was low. In some places it could be considered feral. The only reason autoguns would be on the planet in the first place was because of the Imperium. Heras IV had great potential for mining. The north of the planet was covered in mountain ranges filled with precious metals and minerals that could be used for explosive manufacture. Some suspected that was why the orks came in the first place, and that was why it was imperative that the Guard push them offworld. Every day, Morris prayed to the Emperor that the Space Marines would come to kill off the orks once and for all. That wasn't going to happen though. He'd never seen a Space Marine, and probably never was going to in his entire life.

"Alright ladies, time to get to work." Said Franco. The Sergeant was already out the door by the time Morris climbed to his feet. He reached down and strapped his canteen to his belt before slinging his lasgun once more. He had the first crossing shift with Raine. He exited the mess hall and muttered to himself about nothing in particular as he walked towards the large double door. Before opening it, he wrapped the thin scarf over his mouth and pulled on his sand goggles. The world took on a red tint, and he opened the door. The two stars were high in the sky, beating down on Morris as he walked to his guard post.

The building in which the squad lived lay on one of the major caravan trade routes. Since the war started, it had also become a high traffic road for refugees. The Guard had swooped in, taking this building as a guard post, and assigning the squad to usher the refugees further south, while also dissuading raids and pillaging. Some tribes were getting desperate and thought they could take advantage of the chaos the ork invasion had brought.

Morris sat under an overhang in the building's courtyard. To their front and rear were large metal gates, and the stone plated road was built directly into the building. Traffic had been low today, and Morris had only seen about a hundred people. He looked up at the front gate. Raine was coming back from her stay in the sun, and now it was his turn. He sighed and stood, picking up his lasgun from the bench next to him. He trudged past his squadmate, not even giving her a nod as he walked to the front gate.

Outside the building was a low wall with a single stone seat. This lookout post was the most hated position in the entire building. It was in the sun all day, and the person stationed here was in the most danger from anything that could possibly attack the place. Not that anything would though, thought Morris. He was more concerned about sunburns and sand chafing. He reached behind his head and tied the scarf tighter as he sat. Better safe than sorry.

Time went on, the suns shifted, but never stalling in their intensity. The refugees trickled in through small groups. Some peddled their goods, begging Morris to buy what were in his esteemed opinion, shitty products. Others asked about the war, wanting to know if the orks were being driven back. Morris didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. He simply went through the motions. The procedure had become routine. He would ask them where they were going, and then check them for weapons. If they had them, and they were contraband, he would confiscate them and send them on their way. If they resisted, his lasgun saw some use. That didn't happen too often though, and when it did, they gave up pretty quickly. Why did Command send them here? He wasn't stupid. He knew that this place was fairly useless. Anyone that truly wanted to get at the refugees would attack them further south. The only reason Morris could think of was that the deserts were nearly inhospitable. There were a few of these outposts down here, run by other understrength squads. If any raiders wanted to get at the nomads and refugees, they would have to stop and resupply soon. Their choices were either the caravan outposts or these buildings. Even Morris knew that the caravan's wouldn't go down without a fight. That meant the squad was sent here to deny raiders and malcontents of resources.

Who gives a damn? He thought. The orks were the enemy, not frakking raiders. They could barely load an autogun, why did it matter that they were attacking refugees? Then he remembered the conversation at breakfast, about entire villages getting wiped out. During their lunch break, he had spoken with Raine about it. Apparently, there were no bodies to be found. The villages had been cleared of life, but not without signs of a short lived struggle. A chill ran down his spine. If there were raids destroying entire villages, what good would five guardsmen do?

Nothing, he thought as another group of refugees approached. In the many days he had done this job, Morris had learned to judge people's character easily. He could tell who was trouble and who wasn't. The twelve people before him now, clad in loose grey robes and leading a wagon led by some sort of lizard beast, were definitely trouble. Morris stood, raising his lasgun towards the group. They stopped in their tracks, waiting for him to approach. He stepped out from behind the low wall and called back into the complex for help. Moments later, Raine and Lars arrived, lasguns out. The spread out around the group, Raine and Lars moving to the back while Morris engaged the leader in conversation.

"Where are you all going?" he asked, his weapon half aimed. As he waited for a response, he scanned the group. They were all men, save for one. The woman was covered in the robes as well. Like all of them, only her eyes were visible. She moved oddly, with slow jerky motions that seemed uneasy to Morris. He looked back to their leader. The loose robes made it nearly impossible to judge his size, but he was almost a head taller than Morris, looking down on him with cold eyes. Almost like a cat, thought Morris. Unlike the woman, every movement the man made was precise, as though it was scripted. What really caught Morris' attention was the skin ringing his eyes. It was incredibly pale for a nomad, almost pure white.

"South, naturally," the leader replied. His voice was smooth, but set Morris on edge. There was also a hint of unfamiliarity in it. It sounded as though he was unused to speaking gothic. This man was dangerous.

"Why?" Morris replied, though the answer was obvious.

"The orks are tearing the north up. We must see our fortunes elsewhere." He responded as thought it was a stupid question.

"Raine, Lars, is the cargo clean?" he asked. In front of him, Lars looked through the flap on the wagon, before leaping back with a shriek, his face white.

"Lars? What the hell?" shouted Raine. The leader had turned, affixing them with his cold eyes.

"M-monsters." Lars said quietly, pointing at the wagon.

"What's the meaning of this?" demanded Morris. The leader turned to his people, before speaking in some strange language. The group nodded, and the leader turned back to Morris.

"How many men does this place hold?" Behind him, Raine was helping Lars to his feet. The people were surrounding them now. Before replying, Morris tapped his microbead three times, signaling a possible emergency.

"None of your business, you haven't answered any of my questions satisfactorily. I should turn you back, or worse, execute you and your party."

The man laughed, throwing his head back. It chilled Morris to the bone, where were Franco and James?

"We can't have that." Said the leader. He turned suddenly, and Morris heard a sound like a bird taking flight. Raine stumbled back, clutching her throat. A river of blood poured from a gash across it, staining the sand bright red. She looked puzzled as she fell to her knees and then forward onto her face. The leader turned back to Morris. His robe was pulled back, and in his hand was a thin, single edged sword, unmarred by rust or even blood. Under the robe, Morris could see his figure perfectly. A thin, shell-like armor wrapped his whole body. It was sharp, and asymmetrical. The other men around him were also pulling off their robes, revealing similar black armor, trimmed with green.

Lars tried to take a step back, but the leader's sword flashed again, and he joined Raine on the ground, his stomach torn open. Morris dropped his weapon in shock and fell to his knees. Tears poured down his face as his mind raced. What were they? There were only supposed to be orks here! He looked up at the people, no, the things in front of him. They stared at him with dead eyes, gleaming with cruelty and malice. He barely heard Franco and James arrive, firing their lasguns. His eyes were locked on the wagon. What he thought were shadows behind the flaps, moved bodily, leaping out of the wooden vessel. The humanoid shadows launched themselves at Franco and James, and before Morris could turn away had already ripped off their limbs with short sickle blades, leaving nothing identifiable. He vomited in disgust, and looked up at the leader. Morris was powerless to resist as the hand reached down to his throat. Then the world went dark.

* * *

><p>How utterly boring. Simply five of those animals in the entire complex? Not a challenge at all. He honestly thought the so called, "Hammer of the Emperor", would see to the securing of their refugee lines. Especially when he and his brethren had destroyed village after village to provoke a response.<p>

"My Lord," said Leila in their own tongue. She was obviously sick of that disgusting language. Of course, there was no one left to fool either. "Was there any purpose in this? Why such a roundabout method to kill so few, when a direct attack would have easily sufficed?"

"Because it pleased me." said the Wild Card. "I wanted to see if they could see through our thin disguises for what we really are. And when they did, they did not even put up a fight. How boring."

Leila scowled. She hated him. It was only natural after being cast out of Strife for aiding a traitor. They had both been embroiled in the Dusk of Betrayals, and were together thrown from the Dark City. She didn't have any say, and was simply thrown in with the Wild Card, as he was commonly known amongst his own kind. Altansar was the first to call him that, where after many conflicts; he allied with them to face off against a necron incursion. Kurk's orks knew him as Pointy Ear. He was formally known amongst the humans as Archon Kalesh, the leader of the Maw Privateers. He disliked that name. He was more of a pirate than a ship for hire, though he wasn't against taking contracts from idiotic planetary governors. He preferred the name Maw Interventionists. He felt that was a better fit for his organization. But Wild Card was the name he used the most, and he liked it.

"My Lord," said Cilo the Trueborn. "The Maw awaits us. Shall we not take this flesh sack and return? There are plenty more targets to raid. Kurk has drawn the human's attention well. His freebootas must be enjoying themselves."

The Wild Card looked down at the animal he held in his right hand. The creature had fainted before his gauntlet had even reached its throat. Disgusting, and wholly worthy of being culled at our leisure.

"Very well. Send for a craft to return us to her. It is time we take an active part in this conflict."

"Yes my Lord." The Trueborn replied. "The Lady believes that there is more prey coming."

The Wild Card smiled a shark toothed grin. "Then we shall present to them quiet sands. Power through fear."

Soon a craft returned them to orbit, where they were met by the Interventionist fleet, lead by the flagship, Maw.

Four weeks later, Imperial Expedition 732-Alpha 6 arrived in system, and was met with silence. No sentient life remained, and no trace of the killers was ever found.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Something I wrote up in my spare time. I'll probably write some other stories starring these characters, but I'll try not to take away time from my main story. I hope you enjoyed this. I basically wrote it thinking, "Let's write a story where a person gets killed by something completely unexpected."<p> 


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